The Client, A smutty sherlolly short
by Maejones
Summary: Post season 4 and the confession from Sherlock, Molly arranges a meeting. Sherlock said he loved her, but in what way? Molly is determined to find out.


At her back, Molly heard the creak of the door and felt a whoosh of cool air over her skin as it slammed shut. Leather soles slapped against the wooden planks of the converted studio flat and then slowed and stopped. Goosebumps washed over her skin in waves, both from the prickle of the chilly draft and the knowledge of whose eyes were upon her nearly naked form.

Silence ensued. She bit her lip to stop a grin from spreading over her face. She had hoped to elicit this reaction - a stunned vacuum of sound. Without turning around, she arched her back and squared her shoulders before running her hands up the back of her neck. She gathered her hair up on her head and let out a breathy sigh.

Molly's visitor did not move which to her was a very good sign. Emboldened, she bent forward from her small ottoman and then began to rise, arse first. The lace of her black thong threaded tightly between her cheeks and over her cleft, the garter belt at her waist stretched and its loose suspenders swished against her thighs. She paused mid-rise with her derriere at its most prominent and stroked her hands up one leg over her silky stocking. She tugged it and secured it in place at the front and back, the rear suspender strained in the most satisfying way over her posterior. Then she repeated the process with her other leg. All the while, her voyeur remained quiet. She was achingly aroused. Knowing he had watched her every movement without interruption made her sex infuse with heat and moisture.

Finally, Molly stood up. She wasn't always the most confident, but that day she knew she looked her best. Her matching black lace lingerie and stockings fit perfectly and left nothing to the imagination except the most decadent of sin. Even so, when the time came to face her intended conquest, she had to take several breaths to steady her nerves. She had summoned him to this borrowed flat under false pretenses by baiting him with a riddle she knew only he could solve. He had expected a case. What he didn't know was that he was actually the client.

Slowly Molly turned to face her spectator. Across the sparse expanse of the nearly empty flat, Sherlock Holmes appeared very still, almost like a statue dressed in his infamous Belstaff and a slim-fitting suit with a sapphire-blue shirt. His chin was angled down slightly, just dipping past the upturned collar of his coat. She lifted her eyes and was struck by the intensity she saw within their depths.

She had expected him to be buffering. Instead, his lips were parted and his chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. His eyelid twitched as the moment drew out. Then. he stretched his neck without breaking eye contact. For a few seconds, she wanted to dart for the studio's only bathroom but then his eyes flicked down her body, lingering on the swell of her breasts, the plane of her tummy and the length of her legs. Molly gathered her courage and crossed the room. It was the most difficult ten steps she ever took. By the time she stood under his nose, her insides were a scrambled mess. Somehow, she found her voice.

"Y-You've deduced this already, haven't you, Sherlock? Deduced why you are here?"

He hesitated. His eyes narrowed and then he nodded haltingly. She felt a hot breath fan her face from his flared nostrils.

"Well then, Mr. Holmes, will you take my case? Will you help me solve the mystery?"

His eyebrow crooked up. "Is it a mystery?"

Molly's stomach flip-flopped. "It is to me. You said those words, you confessed, but I still don't know what it means for you to love me. A-Am I your friend or something more-?"

His eyes narrowed as he nearly turned her inside out with his gaze. Time stood still. She thought she had aged a thousand years by the time he spoke.

"Shall I enlighten you?" his deep tone reverberated through her body.

"P-Please," she whispered, her tummy fluttered.

In the next instant, Sherlock's Belstaff and blazer hit the floor. Molly just felt a puff of air at her feet when hands gripped her thighs and hoisted her up. Instinctively, she wrapped her legs around Sherlock's waist and anchored her arms on his neck. Their eyes met briefly, his pupils were large and impossibly dark. Then, his head fell forward. Fireworks exploded in her abdomen when his supple lips slammed over hers as if a dam had just broken within him and he could not contain its surge. An excited squeak escaped her and she kissed him back just as enthusiastically.

 _"Oh, God,"_ she thought, _"Sherlock Holmes has his hands on my bare arse and he's kissing me. Oh, dear lord!"_

He shifted, bouncing her in his arms, and then he walked them to the studio's only bed. In his haste, he practically threw her down before ripping open his shirt, divesting himself of it and dropping his pants to the floor in a puddle. She just had time to register the shock of seeing his lovely, lean muscled form naked and more than a little aroused before he pinned her to the bed. He kissed her again but his hands did not remain idle. She felt the frantic snaps of her suspenders flying apart in between heady kisses and gasps.

"Unh, Sherlock!" she panted as she felt his erection slide along her belly. "Oh, my word … am I dreaming … i-is this real?"

"Very much so," he grunted, "and it is going to be very real in a moment. Forgive me … forgive me for my impatience."

Molly inhaled a shuddering breath when his fingers found the edge of her panties and pulled them down. She lifted her bum and felt the gentle abrasion of the lace slide over her rear. Eager to feel as much of him as possible, she sat up partially and unclasped her bra. In a frenetic heartbeat, her bra joined her panties on the floor and all that was left of her ensemble was her disconnected garter and stockings.

Sherlock's eyes greedily took in the sight of her body. He heaved in a great lungful of air and a tremble vibrated his frame.

"You are … you are more beautiful that I ever imagined, Molly," he murmured.

Molly swallowed. She almost wanted to cry.

"S-So, you did imagine me _like this_?"

He dipped his chin as a pained frown gripped his features. Several curls fell over his brow. He rapidly scanned her expression in disbelief.

"Countless times, Molly Hooper, countless times."

Before a tear could squeeze out, Sherlock kissed her again. When she was thoroughly breathless, he lifted his hand and licked his fingers generously. She moaned and let her head drop back as slick fingers rubbed over her cleft. Then he paused.

"Damn, Molly, we actually cannot do this. I-I don't have any protection."

Between huffs Molly reached back under the bed's lone pillow and whipped out a rubber. Her face warmed as she wagged it beneath his nose.

"Thank god I'm an optimist, humm?"

Sherlock chuckled and gingerly took the little package. He sat up on his knees. Molly closed her eyes as she heard the rip and the sound of him rolling the latex over his cock. Her toes curled on the bed. She chewed her lip. She was still in total shock, she would probably be forever stunned that he had kissed her let alone what they were about to do.

A second later, his heavy weight settled between her knees, his hand ran down her thigh and hiked her leg up. Again, he wetted his fingers to ready her for his entry. He needn't bother, she was more than half-way there at the thought of his possession.

"Hmmnn, Molly, Christ, you are shaking. Are you okay?"

She nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, please, I am just … anxious for you."

Sherlock ran a finger through her folds. The rub of something bolder and larger replaced his digit. She trembled from head to toe. She felt like she was in some sort of weirdly visceral dream. It couldn't be happening, it couldn't, but then it was. She felt the first push of him seeking entry and held her breath.

"Are you ready?" he asked hoarsely. "I am sorry to rush-"

"Please! Rush! Rush, already!"

Sherlock sucked in a breath and settled onto his elbows. Their tummies pressed together and her breast flattened under his chest. His stiff claim moved forward, expanding and filling her. He was larger than anyone she'd had before and the feeling of stretching around him was consuming and intense. Just as he seated himself into her, she felt the rolled edge of the condom slip past her folds and was struck by the moment. The man she had pined for and loved all these years was hard as steel and buried in her body up to his sack.

"Oh, my god," she moaned, "oh, my god, Sherlock."

"Yes, Molly, hu-uh, damn, you feel so good. So good."

With a groan, he kissed her and then kissed her neck. She held tight to his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his back. Soon, his hips bucked and began to thrust. Over and over, he stroked in and out until her arousal eased his glide. His breaths pulsed along her neck, hot and ragged. She knew by the tension in his body and the way his pace increased with every return that their joining would not last long. So, she closed her eyes and just allowed herself to revel in the feel of him. The slick friction and pressure of his rigid flesh brought her quickly to an aching point. In fact, she would not have thought it possible, but she downright throbbed between her legs in record time.

"Molly," he groaned, "Molly. Damn, it has been too long. I am going to come, I cannot stave it off-"

"Don't," she whispered, she was so excited by his pleasure, "unh, don't resist it."

"Molly!"

"Come for me, Sherlock. I am there too, please, I need it …"

The vortex between her legs spun out of control then and a spasm made her grip his shaft tightly. Sherlock swore and thrust hard before a shudder wracked his body. Once, twice, three times she felt the darting of something along his length and realized he was coming. She cried out as another spasm and then multiple pulses within her milked his emptying flesh. Joyous tears slipped from her eyes down her cheeks. She had never felt so fulfilled in her life.

They laid there for some time intertwined. Sherlock kept pulling absentmindedly on one of her suspenders as he recovered his airway against the side of her throat.

"Did I clear things up for you?" he rasped after a few minutes. "Is the mystery of my regard dispelled? I like to leave my clients satisfied."

Molly stroked the soft hairs at his nape and kissed his cheek. "I am definitely satisfied-"

He lifted his head with a huff. "Let me put this mystery of yours 100% to rest right here and now, Molly Hooper. I love you. What I said on the phone the other week was absolutely true. I meant it. I. Love. You."

Molly's nose wrinkled. She coughed a laugh and then a cry and then hugged him as hard as she could. Then she started sobbing.

"Don't cry, my love," he soothed her, "don't cry. I am sorry for everything. How can I make it up to you?"

"Give me a sec, Sherlock," she whispered, "I will calm down in a moment and then …"

"Then?" he asked gruffly.

She sniffled. "Then, I will want you to prove it to me again."


End file.
